


Vessel

by May



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Come Inflation, Inflation, M/M, Makaracest, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/pseuds/May
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually, you know, the fluid dissipates now that you’re dead in the void. It is useless, excess. It dissolves into the fabric of the bubble to mix with horrorterror rainbow spit for all you know.</p>
<p>Unless you want it to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vessel

Usually, you know, the fluid dissipates now that you’re dead in the void. It is useless, excess. It dissolves into the fabric of the bubble to mix with horrorterror rainbow spit for all you know.

Unless you want it to stay.

Your young ancestor quivers in front of you, his skinny legs splayed and his stomach swollen and stretched. Purple smears across his thighs and drips onto the floor and he snarls at you.

“You motherfucking said that it all got its disappear on.” He squirms as he seeps your fluid, but you know that it’s all staying in there for the mean time. You poke around the edges of his pan and he’s bristling with humiliation. You know why – you saw everything from the bubbles. He’s frightened, too, and that fear rolls off him, hotly.

All you can do is smile. Your silence annoys him so much that he’s hissing at you as he wriggles in intense discomfort. You look pointedly between his legs, where his nook gapes a little where you’ve fucked him and you hear his hissing round into a growl. He pushes himself back by his scrabbling hands and you spend a moment watching his face screw up and his thighs quiver and you know he’s trying to squeeze it out.

“You shittent mirthlack,” he says. “I’m gonna all being to rip your motherfucking horns out of your head.”

Your smile is vague, not nearly enough to feel the stitches pull and he narrows his grey eyes at you as he concentrates. You let him succeed up to a slight drip before you move forward and sit yourself between his legs. His anticipation is palpable and you know he can’t drop that he hates this, that he hates this so much. And that it hurts.

One hand gripping his thin shoulder, you run the fingers of one hand up the inside of his thigh, listening to his breath shudder and hitch, that growl rising in the back of his throat. You plunge your fingers into him, sluicing through the wetness and he shudders and whines. The walls of his nook are smooth and slick around your fingers, and you feel your bulge squirm again. As you move your hand inside him, his growling reduces to a quiet buzz and he closes his eyes. His desperation hums quietly, though it threatens to burst.

You put your other hand on his belly, which is still full and tight and you know that it must ache. His smooth skin looks to be as stretched as you could have made it and you whisper around the edges of his pan and ask him what it’s like and if he can feel it all inside there, sloshing around his insides.

“You’re…” his words break with a shudder. “You’re gonna motherfucking regret this. I’m never being to let you get your bulge all in me again.”

You know that’s not true and you push down on his belly, ever so slightly. There’s a whimper and a squeak of a whine, fluid slipping wet past your fingers. You respond to this with plunging your fingers deeper into him, back where it’s still tighter and where the fluid sits thicker. He arches his back and keens and you keep your hand still inside him and watch him writhe around you. His hips buck awkwardly and, when he comes, his nook clings and spasms around your fingers.

He screams, exposing every one of his long sharp teeth and it’s strange for you to think that you used to have teeth like that, before you pulled them out, one by one. His hands scrabble at the floor as he trembles and keens.

As he sags against the floor, his protruding belly poking upwards, you remove your fingers. His skinny chest rises and falls quickly as his face is still constricted in discomfort. If you still had a tongue, you could taste how anxious he is to get your fluid out of him. You give him a minute longer, watching him, before pulling him up and positioning his lax body so that his back rests against your chest. He’s a gangly, trembling mass, and then there’s a whimpered inhalation of breath as you move him. He slumps against you, legs splayed open.

You hold his loose-limbed body to yours and move your hands down as he shivers, one to his stomach and one between his legs. He hisses shaky insults at you as you run your fingers over his abdomen and slide your fingers between the folds of his nook. All you do is rest your face between his horns and smile. The skin of his stomach is so tight now, and you can almost feel the liquid tense under the surface. He whines and you know how much it aches and how much he despises it and you know that he almost can’t bear it.

You work at his nook, already thoroughly slick with genetic fluid and sore and twitching from how much use it’s just had. Even still, you push at the delicate skin just enough that, beneath the insults, there still begins an awkward, rumbling purr. This makes him so angry, so you respond by slowing your movements.

“What the mother fuck…” His words are hitched when he lets out the fullest throb of a purr which is quickly followed by a quick snark of a growl. “…do you think you’re up and doing?”

You press a little more on his belly and use the material that’s loosened as extra lubrication. He doesn’t know whether to purr louder or cry in pain and the noise he makes is comic, to say the least. He squirms in your arms and you have to take the time to hold him still.

You let him hiss and purr and whine in tangent for a while as you play with him. Then you splay out your fingers on his abdomen and press down as hard as you can. He screams high and loud and your ears flick back at the sound. His trembling becomes violent and he writhes so much that it’s hard to keep hold of him as you continue squeezing him like a sponge. After a moment, you feel the fluid begin to soak your pants and puddle between your legs. You notice his stomach loosening under your hand as the material leaves him.

Afterwards, still quivering and muttering insults at you, he flops forward, taking deep breaths. Your hand presses against his empty stomach and you can hear his insides gurgle from the stress. He’s sprawled in your lap for moment before he moves. There’s a sharp ache to his embarrassment, though it’s undercut with a kind of relief. You pick up, however, that he’s still scared.

Eventually, though, he pulls himself out of your grip and stands still quaking to his feet. You watch him as he pulls his pants up over his stained thighs and he turns to look at you, baring his teeth, again.

You think he’s going to say something, but all he does is frown. You watch him as he leaves, back out through the darkness , into some other memory.


End file.
